


(from right here) the view goes on forever

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: The Big Country (1958)
Genre: 5 Times, Bickering, Developing Relationship, Extra Treat, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Five times Leech sought Jim out after the showdown at Blanco Canyon.
Relationships: Steve Leech/James McKay
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	(from right here) the view goes on forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Damkianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damkianna/gifts).



> Title stolen from The Mountain Goats' "Never Quite Free", which had too many lines I almost used as a title before I settled on this one. ("On Dry Land" was a strong contender!)
> 
> Many thanks to my amazingly generous beta, who didn't slam the metaphorical door in my face when I shoved this fic and all my insecurities at her on the morning of Christmas Eve. 
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful Yuletide, Damkianna! ♥

**(I)**

Fixing up Big Muddy was taking up all of Jim's time these days. 

It was a slow, laborious task, but seeing the house transformed from the broken-down ruin to a place to call a home was worth it. When Julie had asked him why he didn't take on more hands to do the tough grind, he'd struggled to explain it to her. Not like he couldn't afford to hire the men to pitch in.

"You don't have to prove to anyone that you can do it, you know?" she'd said, in that gently admonishing tone of hers.

Jim had smiled and shook his head. "You know I don't care for that."

Perhaps that wasn't quite the whole story, though. He didn't put much stock in what other people else thought of him, that much was true. But proving it to himself... well, that was another matter entirely. 

Julie might have known that, Jim reckoned. There'd been something about the way she'd looked at him, like she was well aware he was giving her the runaround with half-truths, and she chose to let him get away with it. She'd always been good at figuring him out. A little too good, maybe.

Jim wiped the sweat off his neck and took a break, sitting out on the porch and watching the birds on the horizon, where the walls of the canyon swallowed up the blue of the sky. The sun was at its highest point, the heat close to unbearable. He missed the sea sometimes, the fresh breeze, the ocean with its sparkling colors and reflections a different, more comforting kind of vastness than the expanse of range land and pale granite out here. 

He heard the sound of the horse approaching long before he saw its rider. He didn't bother to get up. If it was trouble coming to his newly built doorstep, he'd be finding out soon enough. 

It was trouble all right, it turned out, but perhaps not the kind of trouble that would result in a shoot-out. At least Jim hoped it wouldn't. 

"So it's true." Leech didn't sound happy about whatever truth he stumbled upon. Jim squinted up at him, using his hand to shield his eyes from the glaring midday brightness as he bemoaned the loss of his hat. "I didn't figure you'd stick around. I thought for sure you'd have gone home back east by now."

 _Home_. Jim wasn't quite certain where exactly that was, these days. He'd once thought his home was with Pat, that he'd be happy wherever she was, whether it was Baltimore or out here. Now, though— Not much use dwelling over it. Pat wasn't the reason he was still here.

"I wasn't gonna make Miss Maragon take Big Muddy back. I bought it, so I'm keeping it." 

There was more to it, of course. If he'd been at all unsure about staying, Julie would have insisted on voiding their transaction.

Leech knew it too, judging from the wry look he gave Jim. "You might as well have sold it. Pat would've been happy to take it off your hands. As would the Hannasseys."

"I'm sure they would. But I intended to end a feud, not fuel a new one."

Leech snorted. "It's hardly your fight."

"That's true." Jim reckoned it hadn't been anyone's fight but the Major's and Old Rufus Hannassey's, not for a long time, and they were both dead and buried now. Still, Jim didn't trust their descendants not to carry on the old war, given half a chance. "But that doesn't mean I don't feel compelled to prevent it, if it's within my power. So you can tell Pat I'm sorry, but I'll be holding on to Big Muddy."

"Why don't you tell her yourself, McKay? You're as likely to see her as I am," Leech said, his tone so sharp it took Jim a moment until the words registered. 

He frowned. With the Major gone and himself out of the picture by mutual agreement, he'd assumed Pat would have come to rely on Leech more than before. "I thought you—"

He didn't get to finish the thought, which was just as well, because Leech told him, "She blames me for the Major's death."

It was quite absurd. Though he had to admit, it did sound a lot like Pat. She was headstrong and opinionated and passionate, something he used to admire when he first met her. Still did, perhaps, even though he preferred to admire it from afar these days. 

"She shouldn't. It wasn't your fault."

The wide brim of Leech's hat cast shadows upon his face that made it hard to read his expression, but as the silence drew out longer, Jim realized Leech must have thought his fierce objection odd. 

"I was with the Major down at Blanco. I lived, and he died," Leech said when he finally spoke again, making it sound like perfectly sensible reasoning.

Perhaps it wasn't just Pat who blamed Leech. Jim had seen it plenty of times at sea, how the guilt over losing a man would weigh heavy on the conscience of his crew mates, even when there'd been nothing they could have done to prevent the death. From what Jim had heard, Leech had tried his best to stop the Major's foolish quest for reckoning. If his only crime had been his presence at the Canyon when the Major died, he was hardly the only one.

"The same could be said of me," he objected, his tone mild.

Leech's mouth curled. "Oh, don't worry, McKay, Pat thinks it's your fault too. No shortage of blame going round." He chuckled at the bemusement that must have been showing on Jim's face before tipping his hat. "I'll be seeing you around then. Word of advice, you better keep your rifle at hand. Not everyone passing by out here is as friendly as I am, and you can bet they won't be sharing your aversion to fighting."

He turned his horse around and dug in his heels, riding off in a trail of dust before Jim had come to a decision on whether he was being threatened or mocked. 

He watched until Leech disappeared into the distance, just a tiny blur at the horizon.

**(II)**

"You'll be breaking your neck if you fall down there."

Up on the roof, startled by the voice cutting through the early morning air, Jim did indeed almost lose his footing. 

He steadied himself and held on to the chimney before turning around to give the owner of the voice a pointed look. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Leech. I assure you, I got it under control."

Leech was standing next to his horse, his hands on his hips and his face angled up towards Jim, amusement lighting up his eyes. "Sure you do," he said, in that quizzical tone of his that meant he was calling Jim a liar again without actually saying the word.

Jim should probably take offense, but he'd never seen the point of having the same argument twice. And it wasn't like Leech had been entirely wrong, this time. Jim wasn't quite as steady on his feet up here as he'd hoped he'd be. Climbing back down to get his tools and up again seemed like an unpleasant prospect, and since Leech was already there, sniping from the sidelines, he might as well make himself useful.

"Can you hand me that hammer over there, please?"

Leech had clearly expected a different kind of response, judging from the way his eyebrows rose at Jim's painstakingly polite request. It was his own fault if he hadn't learned by now that Jim wasn't easily provoked.

Though perhaps he'd decided turnabout was fair play, because instead of taking off in a huff like Jim thought he might, he bent down to grab one of the hammers from the tool box. "This one?"

"That's the one."

Leech stepped up onto the porch to hand it to over, the new floorboards creaking under his boots. "Anything else I can help you with, McKay?" he taunted, a challenge Jim was likely meant to back down from.

There was something about how his drawl wrapped around the words that made Jim feel unbalanced in a way that had nothing to do with the precarious height and the steep slope of the rooftop. It was an unfamiliar feeling, reckless and heated. He briefly wondered if this was how people felt when they tumbled headlong and fist-first into a fight. 

He straightened his back and snuffed out the impulse as rigorously as he could, peering down at Leech as he considered the offer. Just because Jim knew it wasn't meant to be taken seriously didn't mean he had to acknowledge that. 

"Well, since you're offering, I suppose you might as well come up here and lend me a hand." 

Leech narrowed his eyes, gaze flitting from Jim's face to his outstretched hand and back, and if Jim had been a betting man he'd wager a small fortune Leech was torn between flat-out refusing and needling Jim about his admission that he could use some help. 

He looked back, unflinching, waiting Leech out as the tension stretched taut like the reins of an unruly horse you're trying to stop.

Jim didn't expect Leech to reach out and grab his proffered forearm. Stunned by the display of easy compliance, he was too surprised to react and for a long moment, they just stood like that: Leech's callused, weather-beaten fingers digging into Jim's skin, his grip firm and his eyes locked with Jim's, blue as steel and as unyielding.

A bird's cry from high up in the air tore the silence and broke the impasse. Jim shook off his stupor enough to gather his wits and move. As he tightened his hand around Leech's arm and pulled him up, the old, worn roof groaned dangerously under their combined weight. 

Jim didn't let go until Leech had steadied himself, holding on tightly even after Leech's fingers had dropped away.

**(III)**

The next time Jim saw Leech, the man was bleeding all over his porch. He was also insisting he was fine, which was entirely ridiculous, considering there was a gunshot wound in his shoulder.

"It's just a graze," Leech protested, appearing more put out by Jim's effort to clean the wound than by the injury itself. "I've had worse." 

He made a move as if to get up, straining against Jim's hold.

"And you barely lived, from what I've heard." It may have been a big country, as people never tired to inform Jim, but word travelled as fast here as it used to do on any ship Jim had ever served on. Leech almost succumbing to his wounds after getting shot at Blanco had been the talk of the town for a long while. Jim hadn't been worried, exactly, but he had felt a curious sense of relief when Julie had told him that Leech was gonna pull through. It was nothing personal, he'd told himself. Too many people had died that day for nothing. Jim didn't need to harbor any particular fondness for Leech to be glad that he hadn't been one of them. "Even if it's only a graze, it still might kill you if it gets infected."

"So you're a doctor now as well, McKay?" Leech asked with a scowl. "Or perhaps a nurse, the way you're fussing over me."

Jim refused to rise to the bait as he drenched a cotton rag in alcohol and pressed it firmly against where the wound was still bleeding sluggishly. He didn't gain any satisfaction from the way Leech flinched at the sting. Not much, anyway. 

"I don't think they make nurse uniforms in my size," he said, mildly. 

The corners of Leech's mouth twitched. It could barely be called a smile, hardly there and already gone, but not before Jim had seen it. 

"It would still be an improvement over that damn hat you wore when you got here." Leech squinted down at the bandage Jim was fixing on his shoulder. "Are you done yet?"

It was hard to suppress the eye roll at Leech's impatience. Goddammit if the man wasn't the most stubborn son of a bitch Jim had ever known, here or back east or on any ocean he'd ever sailed. "In a minute. You see, I prefer to properly finish the things I started."

"Shouldn't have started 'em to begin with," Leech said under his breath, and Jim wasn't sure if the annoyance swinging in his tone was real or if it was some bizarre attempt to save face after revealing he was capable of showing amusement. "Remind me to take the long way round Big Muddy the next time."

The idea of Leech bleeding all over land that didn't belong to Jim wasn't exactly comforting. Jim frowned. "How about you try not to get yourself shot the next time?"

He didn't even know how Leech got shot _this time_. When Jim had come upon him at the far edge of the ranch, steering his horse one-armed and cursing up a storm, Leech hadn't seemed inclined to answer his questions. It was unlikely he'd have more luck now after he'd subjected Leech to his unwelcome tending. He reckoned he'd hear about it eventually, in town or from Julie, or when Dude Hannassey next came to lead their cattle down to the river.

Once Jim finished up dressing the wound, he let his hands fall away. "There you go."

Leech tentatively rolled his shoulder. The pain crossing his face told Jim a good deal about how much the wound was really bothering him, but the bandage held.

"Suppose I should be thanking you." Leech looked like saying the words might cause him more agony than the bullet had, so Jim took pity on him.

"Think of it as payback for helping me fix the roof." 

Leech gave him a hard look, his eyes blue as the sea on a stormy morning. He took up his hat from the porch step and stood. "Why do I feel like we ain't square yet, McKay?"

Jim craned his head upward towards him and shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. Perhaps because you're the only one keeping score."

The only one out of the two of them, rather. Everyone out here always seemed to be settling scores, one way or the other, and Jim was getting a little weary of it. He stood and brushed himself off, stepping over to the well to wash Leech's blood from his hands.

When he heard Leech ride off, he didn't turn around to watch him leave.

**(IV)**

The bulls looked... well, they looked pretty much like bulls, Jim thought. 

Perhaps he should have accepted Ramón's offer to accompany him when he went to buy a herd for the ranch, but Pat had glared at him from the doorway, beautiful as ever but looking hassled and tired, her arms crossed defensively in front of her, and Jim hadn't wanted to impose.

Truth was, he had as much knowledge about livestock as Ramón had about sailing. 

"These are your best bulls, then, Mr. Brimley?" he asked the cattle breeder, a stocky man with a tattered gray hat who Jim trusted about as far as he could throw a bull by the tail.

Brimley wiped the sweat off his forehead and smiled a little too widely. "Most certainly. You won't find better ones this side of the canyon, good sir."

As ignorant as he may have been when it came to cattle, Jim knew plenty about men – especially about scoundrels like Brimley, who would try to sell mountaineering gear to a sailor if they only saw an opportunity. He was starting to think it might be better to go shopping for livestock at a different place instead when he felt someone step up behind him. A hand clapped him on the shoulder, heavy and overtly familiar in a way that made Jim tense up until he realized who it belonged to.

"Dave, tell me you're not about to sell those tired old boys to my friend Jim here," Leech said, addressing Brimley. His tone was just a bit too friendly, like it had been on Jim's first morning at Ladder, when Leech had suggested Jim should take Old Thunder out for a ride. Jim had to admit that it felt good to see Leech's particular brand of _friendliness_ directed at someone else for once.

Brimley got visibly flustered, his eyes nervously flickering from Jim to the man who lingered at his flank. He shook his head. "No. No, of course not, Mr. Leech. I was just going to, well—"

He floundered, red patches appearing on his pockmarked cheeks, and Jim was abruptly reminded of the fact that Steve Leech was a man people were genuinely afraid of. It wasn't that Jim hadn't known before – there was clearly a reason for why the Major used to rely on Leech to deal with problems like the Hannasseys – but even at the height of their animosities, Jim had never been intimidated by Leech. Puzzled, yes. Frustrated, surely. Annoyed, too. But never afraid.

He wondered if that was the reason why Leech had kept trying to antagonize him, and why he was always seeking him out now. Not that Jim was bothered by Leech's continued appearances at the most opportune moments. He just didn't quite know what to make of them.

Taking pity on the breeder, he turned towards Leech. "You got here just in time. Mr. Brimley was about to show me his two best bulls. Isn't that right, Mr. Brimley?"

Brimley nodded vigorously. 

"And he'll make you a good price, too, I assume," Leech added, pointedly. 

His hand fell away from Jim's shoulder. Oddly, Jim found himself missing the weight of it, the familiarity, sham as it had been.

Brimley bought out two different bulls. At least Jim assumed they were different, because Leech seemed happy enough with them. They all looked the same to him, not that he was going to admit it. It all sounded a lot less complicated back when Julie had given him a run-down of what he'd need if he took over Big Muddy.

But he'd learned to handle things and circumstances far more difficult than herding cattle. He'd get the hang of this, too, eventually. 

When they left Brimley, business done, with Jim the proud new owner of what he hoped were two decent bulls for his herd, he told Leech, "I knew he was trying to swindle me."

"Did you?" Leech raised a brow and gave Jim a derisive look. "And I reckon you were just going to let him, out of the goodness of your heart?"

"No. I was going to politely decline and take my business elsewhere." He wouldn't have called Brimley on his scam, not only because he didn't know enough about bulls to prove anything was amiss, but also because he saw little point in offending people when it would likely gain him nothing. And he doubted the man would have cowered the way he did if it had been Jim rather than Leech calling him a liar.

"Well, there's no elsewhere around here, not when it comes to cattle. Old Brimley's a scamp, but he's still the best breeder in this county."

Dude Hannassey had said the same, but Jim hadn't been sure how much truth there was in that. It was good to know his neighbors didn't seem intent on setting him up for failure.

He watched Leech swing himself up into his saddle, remembering his earlier words, the pointed _my friend Jim_ that had obviously been for Brimley's benefit, but had felt strangely intimate, not like a lie at all. "So are we friends now, Steve? I thought you didn't like me."

The name rolled easier from his tongue than he had expected it would. Jim could get used to it, he thought.

Leech— Steve shrugged, not looking at Jim. "I'd say I like Brimley less than you. And I reckon Miss Maragon wouldn't have let me hear the end of it if I'd let you buy a couple of lame old bulls for your herd."

It wasn't quite an answer to what Jim had asked, but perhaps it was answer enough.

**(V)**

It was still dark out when a knock on the front door sounded through the house, startling Jim. He wasn't sure who'd come calling this time of day, before the break of dawn. For a social visit, it was too early, and the knocking wasn't insistent enough to signal an emergency – just two unhurried, hard raps, and then nothing. 

With a wary sense of foreboding making itself at home in the pit of his gut, Jim took the lamp from the kitchen table and went to open the door. 

Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him to find Steve Leech on his porch, leaning against the pillar by the stairs. His hat was pulled down low, and the dim orange gleam of the flame cast harsh shadows on his face. 

"McKay." He wasn't smiling – but then, he hardly ever was. He didn't appear to be particularly angry either. "I thought I'd return the favor and come say goodbye."

Jim frowned. He didn't think Steve would bother letting him know if he was going on a trip, not unless he didn't plan on coming back. "You're leaving?"

"I'm headed to town now," Steve confirmed. He pushed away from the wood and straightened his back. "After that, who knows. I reckon I'll be going further down south, see where my horse takes me. There ain't nothing here left for me."

There was no bitterness in his tone. He made it sound like a statement of fact, and something about that grated on Jim more than he thought it might. 

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, for once speaking before measuring his words, and immediately regretting them as soon as they'd left his mouth. Irritation had bled into his tone, too telling by far. There was a reason he normally took care not to speak hastily. Much like bullets fired, it was impossible to take words back once they were out. 

Across the porch, Steve gave him an odd look, narrow-eyed and considering, like he was trying to figure out why Jim would take his remark, loaded as it may have been, so personally.

Jim refused to squirm under the appraisal. He squared his shoulders and spoke again before Steve had the chance to call him on his slip-up. "Would you like to come inside then? I was just about to brew some coffee."

The offer appeared to throw Steve, as Jim had thought it might. Steve was hesitating – long enough that Jim expected him to decline. But then he gave Jim a one-shouldered shrug and tipped his hat. 

"Why not? I'm in no hurry."

"Very well, then." Jim stepped back into the kitchen, trusting Steve to follow. 

Inside, he grabbed two mugs and leaned against the counter, watching Steve take a look around the place. It was still a little rough, a far cry from the big house on Ladder, and it would take plenty more work to make a proper home of it yet. But for the time being, it suited Jim just fine. 

He wondered if Steve would agree. Likely not, Jim reckoned. Steve had never made a secret of the kind of man he thought Jim to be, from the very moment he'd looked at that hat he'd found so offensive. And despite Jim's efforts – or perhaps because of them – he had hardly managed to disabuse Steve of his misconceptions. 

When Steve's curious gaze finished its appraisal of the house and settled on him, he was prepared to find himself at the receiving end of some kind of judgment. It didn't come, though, and Steve's silence was almost more unnerving than his scorn had been. He took off his hat and set it down on the table, his eyes piercing in the flickering lamplight. 

Jim remembered his words out on the porch. Perhaps he was looking for the same kind of goodbye Jim had brought to Steve's doorstep all those months ago when he left Ladder. If so, he wasn't going to find it at Big Muddy.

"I sure hope you didn't come here for another fight, or else you'll be disappointed."

Steve gave him a long, calculating look, his face unreadable. "I guess we'll see about that," he said, ominously.

Then he stepped around the table towards where Jim was standing, the kind of purpose in his gait that made Jim think he should perhaps brace himself for a punch. He tensed when Steve advanced. The wariness in his posture seemed to amuse Steve, a small, knowing smile making his mouth curl. Infuriatingly, even knowing it was at his expense, Jim thought it rather suited him.

And then his thoughts blanked out altogether for a moment when, instead of striking with his fists, Steve kissed him. 

His lips were chapped and dry, his mouth hard against Jim's, unyielding like he was making a point. 

It lasted barely a couple of seconds before Steve stepped back, too fast to give Jim the chance to respond. He jutted his chin and looked at Jim head-on with a speculative glint in eyes, and Jim realized he was being tested again.

He gave Steve a considering look, raising his hand to his lip to trace the spot where he could still feel the ghost of Steve's kiss. "You think this'll make me fight you, then?"

"Depends." The word rolled off Steve's tongue easily, casual, like it was all the same to him. "I got no preference either way." 

_Either way_. As if it there were only two routes for Jim to take. 

"I see," Jim said. He was half-tempted to casually dismiss Steve's overture and pour them a coffee, just to prove Steve wrong. But spite had never suited him as a motivator – and truth was, Steve did have a point. There were really only two ways to respond to a thing like that.

And Jim still had no intention of fighting Steve.

"Well, then. I already told you back at Ladder, I won't be playing this game on your terms." 

He noticed the way Steve's shoulders grew rigid and tense when Jim crossed what little space stood between them. He moved with caution, his advance deliberate and steady like the day he'd approached Old Thunder. The damage an unruly horse could cause when spooked was, Jim imagined, hardly worth mentioning in comparison to the way Steve might react if Jim went the wrong way about this.

When he reached out, Steve flinched, even before Jim's hand settled on the side of his neck. He didn't pull away from the touch, though, not then and not when Jim pulled him forward into another kiss.

Jim meant to keep it light, but the moment his lips met Steve's, the other man appeared to shake off whatever caution had held him back before. He kissed like he fought, reckless and angry. His teeth sunk viciously into Jim's lips and his tongue pushed forward with insistence until Jim's mouth opened for him. He clenched his fist in Jim's shirt, grasping it tight and pressing down against Jim's chest, right above the place where Jim's heart was racing a mile a minute.

It had been a good while since Jim had been kissed like that. He'd grown used to Pat's sweet little pecks and her lavish surrender, and the onslaught of Steve's mouth against his was overwhelming in the best and worst kind of ways.

He took care to soften the kiss, slowing Steve with gentle force, his fingers curling around the back of Steve's neck to steady him. 

A sound rippled from Steve's throat, breathless and needy, and he tore himself away. Jim let his arm drop, ready to step back, but Steve's hold on him hadn't eased. 

Steve was still catching his breath, glowering at Jim. 

"Damn you, McKay," he hissed between clenched teeth, like it hadn't been him who kissed Jim first. 

The knuckles of his hand had turned white from the force of his grip. If Jim tried to pull back now, the worn cotton of his shirt was likely gonna tear, so he stayed where he was, only inches between them. 

He felt Steve's fast breath against his face, felt the hand on his chest clench and unclench. The orange gleam of dawn fell through the window at Jim's back, illuminating Steve's features. Jim found it hard to take his eyes off the other man's reddened, spit-wet lips, now flattened into a thin, angry line he'd like to coax open once more. Close as they were standing, all he'd have to do was to angle his head to kiss Steve again.

"If we're doing this, you might as well call me Jim," he said quietly instead, offering Steve an out, in case he wanted it.

He didn't avert his gaze as wary blue eyes searched his face. 

"Is that so?" Steve finally said, his tone deliberative. "Might take some time to get used to."

Coming from a man who, just minutes ago, had every intention of taking his leave and not looking back, it was as good as an agreement. 

Jim smiled. "Why don't you stick around for a while, then? See perhaps if there's something here for you after all." 

"Perhaps I should. I suppose you might be needing some help out here with the ranch anyway."

The impulsive denial that was already on the tip of Jim's tongue turned out to be easier to swallow than he expected. Much as he bristled at the suggestion that he needed assistance, he had to admit he quite liked the idea of having Steve around to show him the ropes. And Julie had suggested he should be on the lookout for a good foreman, after all.

"I suppose I might," he conceded lightly.

Steve gave him an inquisitive look, like he wasn't sure what to do with Jim being so agreeable. He seemed to be ready to keep arguing for the sake of arguing, and even though Jim might have enjoyed going toe to toe with Steve more than he'd ever be willing to admit, he could think of a much better use of their time right then. 

He leaned in to press their lips together again, cutting off whatever sharp-tongued response Steve doubtlessly had in store for him.

End.


End file.
